


Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too)

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: Strangers on a plane.A Christmas Eve snowstorm.A hotel room and one big bed.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 25
Kudos: 328
Collections: Preathfics Winter 2020 Collection





	Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too)

As far as Tobin was concerned the flight back home from France had been pretty uneventful. At least for a flight on Christmas Eve, anyway. She'd travelled over holidays before and usually it seemed to be ten times more stressful than any other part of the year, with the over-crowding and the tense, high-strung masses of humanity moving through the terminals and gates alongside her. And it wasn't like she didn't understand the stress of travelling. She just didn't understand the stress of holiday travelling. Or the stress of the holidays at all. They were, for the most part, just another day.

And maybe that was a consequence of having missed so many, having been taken away from her family on the days that were supposed to mean something so often for this tournament or that match or a camp that just had to be scheduled over Easter weekend. But maybe, too, it was just who she was as a person. Someone at ease in all aspects of her life except professional; or, as Tobin liked to say, hard-chill off the pitch, no-chill on it. But whatever it was, she just didn't understand the fuss. Why one day on the calendar was different than any other. Why people got so uptight and so upset when things didn't go as planned on a day that a piece of paper said was important.

She'd hesitated at the thought of flying back home for Christmas, well aware that to make it work she'd have to fly on Christmas Eve with the way her matches for PSG were scheduled. She'd done it before, and regretted it almost as soon as the journey began, unable to put up with the way people seemed to lose their minds on that day. But today's flight had been ... quiet.Almost unusually so, quiet even by her standards for a regular flight. Though, to be fair, she had slept through most of it. But the parts of it that she had been awake for—boarding, the pre-flight hand puppet show from the flight attendants, the first round of in-flight snacks—it had seemed to go as smoothly as any other decent flight she’d ever been on. Maybe even smoother, and that, as far as she was concerned, was enough of a Christmas miracle for her this year.

Still, she was glad that she’d thought to book a seat in business class, one with more than enough room to stretch out her long legs. It was nice not to have to worry about elbowing her seat mate accidentally, something the more spacious seats and individual armrests made much less likely to happen. She'd spent many a trans-Atlantic flight trying to make herself as small as possible, stuck next to some sullen businessman spreading himself out as much as possible, or a woman half-sloshed on airport booze, or worst most of all, an unaccompanied minor who demanded her attention and entertainment. Feeling free, feeling unrestrained, even while in the air, it was the kind of luxury she was just getting used to allowing herself, and she'd be hard-pressed to say that she wasn't enjoying it. Still, maybe a little bumping wouldn’t have been so bad, Tobin considered, feeling well-rested as she looked surreptitiously at her neighbor under the guise of letting her eyes wander around the cabin.

The other woman was hot, undeniably so with her smooth, dusky skin and her long, graceful limbs. Expecting one of the boring, stolid businessman she'd seen with their suits and their briefcases out by the gate, expecting to be paired with someone who would take up all of the air in the row, Tobin had been pleasantly surprised to see the flight attendant leading a young, pretty woman to the open seat next to her. But despite the small smile her fellow passenger had given her as she sat down, she seemed quiet, and maybe a little shy. She'd taken her seat without a single word, pulling out a laptop to work on once they were up in the air, headphones in and diligently typing away. And honestly, that had suited Tobin just fine, the last few weeks had been exhausting, playing a full 90 minutes in almost every league match as well as her team’s Champions League fixtures. She’d fallen asleep soon after the flight attendants had distributed their meal and hadn't been disturbed by her seatmate once—one of the benefits of always booking the window seat, to be sure.

Her neighbor had still been typing when Tobin had awoken a little while ago, biting her lip as she looked intently, intensely, at her screen. And the soccer player took advantage of her complete absorption to let her eyes linger a little. Her hair was up now, twisted into a loose, messy bun, a pen poking through it though whether that was to keep the hair up or the pen close at hand, Tobin couldn’t tell. And there was something else different too, something that Tobin couldn’t quite—wait, glasses. At some point the woman had slipped on a pair of thick lenses rimmed in black plastic frames. Honestly, the get-up should have looked ridiculous. Would have looked ridiculous on any other person, Tobin included. But on her neighbor here the image was—Tobin searched for a word—adorable. It was adorable, in a soft, domestic kind of way that set something aquiver in the athlete’s belly.

The plane jumped, just the slightest, but it was always unnerving, the first unanticipated hint of turbulence. Even for someone as well-travelled and always in-transit as Tobin was. But as they neared their destination, as the seatbelt lights flashed and the captain announced that they'd be hitting some weather before they began their descent, Tobin saw that the woman looked a little nervous. Or a lot nervous. She’d stopped typing and her hands were clutching the armrests tight enough to turn her knuckles white. And people could say a lot about Tobin—could and did. She'd been called any number of things, both positive and negative, in her years as a professional footballer. But no one who'd ever written about her, who'd ever met her, could ever say that she wouldn't try to help out a stranger in need. And she wasn't going to stop trying now. “Hey,” she said to the woman sitting next to her, "are you okay? You kind of look like you're going to throw up?"

Christen started, head jerking up from her laptop screen, surprised, before closing her eyes in embarrassment, grateful, at least, that she hadn't been caught staring by the stranger who'd slept beside her for the last six hours. She'd noticed her right away, of course, the lean woman whose fit body was obvious even under the loose sweatpants and hoodie she wore. Chris had noticed her even in the terminal, long legs stretched out before her, chin falling down onto her chest, the snapback hiding most of her face, and when she'd reached her assigned seat as she boarded and realized the attractive woman would be at her side over the next nine hours, or so, she'd felt an excited thrum under her breastbone.

When she'd realized that her neighbor intended to sleep through the long flight, Christen had been a little disappointed, but also supremely relieved that she wouldn't have to fake small talk with a complete stranger—one of her least favorite things to do. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t have a literal ton of work to get through, even on the day before Christmas. She’d managed to get her time away from the office approved, but that in no way precluded her work from piling up and demanding her attention. She had never been able to sleep on planes anyway, and so the long flight had seemed like the perfect opportunity to tackle the reports and proposals that had been lingering on her to-do list for ages, always superseded by something with a higher priority. And if she got enough done while in transit, she'd be able to spend that much more time basking in the presence of her family once she finally made it home. Still, now with just a little over an hour left of their trans-Atlantic journey, she knew that she’d barely even scratched the surface of what she’d intended to finish. And the reason for that, for her distraction and her inability to concentrate on the task at hand, had been the gorgeous sleeping woman—now awake and looking at her with concern—next to her.

"Fine, I'm fine," Chris answered, and looked over with a small, tight-lipped smile, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Just the turbulence, you know? Rationally, I know it's going to be fine. But my roommate and I watched  Sully just last weekend and now it's all I can think about." And she blushed, inwardly berating herself for sharing more than she needed to. But still, the other woman didn’t laugh at her, just sat up a little straighter from where she was lounging against the small window as much as the seatbelt would allow.

Tobin nodded. “Yeah, flying’s like a leap of faith, you know? And even if you know you’re going to be fine, sometimes it’s like somebody just wants to remind you that you’re not in control, so you give the whole experience the respect it deserves.” She smiled then at Christen, "But  Sully isn’t too bad, I don’t think.” The soccer player looked up, trying to remember what she could about the plot. “I mean, there's probably worse movies to pick? What about that one with Idris Elba and the Titanic chic? Didn't they actually crash into a mountain in that movie?" And Tobin grinned when she saw the hint of a smile on the other woman's lips.

Christen rolled her eyes. "Is that supposed to help?" she asked wryly, “because now I'm thinking of mountains instead of the Hudson River."

And that made Tobin's grin even wider as she took in the woman sitting next to her. "I mean," she leaned in closer, "sounds like a win to me." Tobin couldn't help herself, couldn't keep herself from flirting. Just a little, just enough to help set the woman next to her at ease. And she might have gone a little further but for the way the plane shuddered again, the bottom seeming to drop right out from underneath them for a long, nerve-wracking second.

{ _ Sorry, folks, that was a big one. Just hang tight and we should have you on ground safe and sound in no time. _ }

"Fuck," Christen whispered under her breath as she gripped the armrest even tighter, fighting the uneasy twist of her belly. In actuality, she was more upset with herself for making a scene in front of the attractive stranger than she was about the bumpy end to the flight, but then she felt warm fingers reach out and tentatively, gently, take her hand, and looked up. 

Tobin smiled at the surprised woman. "Is this okay?" she asked, encouraged by the fact that the other woman hadn't pushed her hand away. "I thought—sometimes—"

But it was Christen's turn to smile now, and she squeezed the proffered hand with gratitude. "No, no, I mean—yes, thank you," she said, and let the other woman offer her comfort, strength. "But I don't even know your name? I feel like that’s something I should know if you’re going to hold my hand," her voice was soft and warm in appreciation. “I’m Christen,” she breathed in, already feeling her nerves begin to calm, the storm in her belly quell, “or Chris. Some people call me Chris.”

The soccer player wrapped her free hand around their joined ones, shaking gently. “—Tobin,” she introduced herself with a grin.

— — —

"So," Tobin gestured with their joined hands, in the middle of one of her all-time favorite stories to tell, "the goalkeeper comes out, arms wide like this, and Horan just keeps charging toward goal with the ball at her feet. And she ends up getting clotheslined by Bouhaddi, just laid out at the PK spot. I mean, we could practically see little birdies circling her head as she just kept staring up at the sky." 

Christen laughed at the image of it, loud enough that one of the other passengers turned to look at them both where they were sitting in the middle of the business class section, but then turned back, paying them no more mind. "Oh, noooo," she exclaimed, "that poor kid—her first cap with the team and she knocks herself out on the keeper." The smile that stretched across her face was genuine, and she realized that she hadn't thought about the turbulence or the possibility of their plane crashing in the twenty minutes since Tobin had taken her hand and introduced herself.

She was gorgeous, Tobin realized, watching as Christen laughed. She wasn’t just hot, wasn’t just adorable, wasn’t even just gorgeous. She was more than that. More than all of that.Christen radiated life and joy, warmth and kindness, things that were so easy to overlook, so easy to forget how good it was to be in the presence of. Tobin looked at her and saw a woman who would go after anything she decided to undertake in her life with her whole, entire heart. And she recognized that, the part of that, that existed in her own self. Want and passion and drive.

{ _ Okay, folks, we're beginning our final descent now. Please make sure your seats are in their upright positions and your tray tables are upright. _ }

Tobin loosened her grip on Christen's hand, and was surprised when the other woman took it right back. "Do you mind? Just for a little longer?" And Tobin smiled in return, squeezing her hand as she shook her head.

"I don't mind at all," she said, feeling her stomach roll in a way that had nothing to do with the bumpy descent, and was a whole lot more pleasant.

— — —

Not even the tinny sound of holiday carols piped in over the PA system, not even dusty plastic garland some underpaid group of airport employees had strung along the walls, not even the exhausted looking airline reps with their limp Santa hats could make the atmosphere of the airport feel cheery, or warm, or welcoming. If ever there had been a sense of a holiday spirit, it had died long before making its way to the baggage claim. The long, wide hall was overrun with travelers, the lines at the rental car counters snaking around the large hall, twisting and turning in on themselves over and over until they were no longer lines but a maw of exhausted, desperate human misery. And then there was Christen, standing before a departure board with a distinct frown on her face, and Tobin felt her lungs constrict, maybe at the sadness on the other woman’s face, maybe at the sadness in her chest at realizing that their time had come to its end. Except—

She walked up behind Christen, letting her bag rest against her leg as she stopped to stand next to the other woman. “Your flight get cancelled too?” Tobin asked softly, not wanting to startle her as they stood in the midst of hundreds of people finding out that their holiday plans were not to be.

"Yeah," Chris wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry just a little. The flight into JFK had been long and at times tumultuous, and the only thing that had made it bearable, besides the last hour making friends with her seatmate, was the knowledge that after a short layover and another six or so hours in the air, she would finally, finally be home. Just in time to surprise her family in the wee hours of Christmas morning. "The storm," Chris gestured weakly to the hundreds of other passengers finding out the very same information all around them.

And Tobin only hesitated a moment before resting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "LA, right?" she asked, and bit her lip when Chris nodded. "So even if we could rent a car for you, there's no way—"

"—no way I'd make it home in time for Christmas," Christen nodded, finding it hard to keep the despair out of her voice. She'd already figured that much out herself. "What about you, was your flight cancelled too?"

Tobin looked up at the board as if checking for herself and nodded, "No flight for me this evening either.” It wasn't entirely a lie, of course, but it was just enough of a truth to smooth over the dishonest twinge she felt in the depths of her lungs. Tobin looked at the woman standing next to her, a spark kindling in her chest, something warm and almost exciting, and the darker feeling dispersed altogether at the chance to continue this interplay, to spend a little more time in this woman's presence. "I have an—," she started to speak, just as Christen did the same. "No, you first," the soccer player said.

Chris played with the leather strap of her carry-on bag, "Do you think maybe you'd want to get a drink while we're stuck here in the airport for the night, or maybe dinner?" And there was something hopeful in her voice, the idea that maybe, if she couldn't make it home to be with her family tonight, at least she could have this.

With a smile, Tobin took her hand again. "I think that's a great idea," she let her thumb stroke over Chris's skin gently. "But I definitely don't want airport food. And—and I think I wouldn't mind a shower, and a change of clothes," Tobin smiled as Christen's eyes went a little wide and wary. "No, no," she laughed, "not like that. But what if we headed into the city, got a hotel room where we could clean up and drop our things? And then we could find a place open for a decent meal?" And she felt the butterflies swarm in her belly as she waited for the other woman's response.

"That does sound a whole lot nicer than waiting around here for who knows how long," Christen nodded slowly before looking up with a smile. "Let's do it."

— — —

"Oh, wow," Christen said softly as she looked out of the window of the cab Tobin had managed to commandeer for them while she’d been in the bathroom, unaware of just how many palms the other woman had had to grease in order to secure it for the two of them, "New York really takes its holiday decorating seriously." There was an awed quality to her voice that made Tobin smile. New York wasn't unfamiliar to her—just like it wasn’t unfamiliar to any kid growing up just a few hours away in Jersey—and New York during the holiday season was always a pleasant sight. But seeing it now, through the eyes of someone experiencing it for the very first time ... the pomp and the circumstance, the warm nostalgia it always fostered in her heart, seemed to take on a whole new meaning. Tobin watched Christen’s face, already committing the different expressions, the slightest variances in her smiles, to memory as Chris's eyes went wider and wider, taking in just how beautiful downtown Manhattan could be on a snowy Christmas Eve.

"The snow seems so gentle," Chris looked at Tobin for a moment before letting her eyes wander to the scenes outside the cab window, the thick, heavy snowfall that turned the whole city into some kind of magical winter paradise. "I almost can't believe they cancelled all those flights?"

But the other woman just laughed, "You really are a California girl, aren't you?" she smiled. "It's gentle enough, but it's heavy, and it's sticking, see—" Tobin pointed out the way the snow was already mounding over the features of the sidewalks, softening the harsh edges of concrete and steel. "And it's even worse over the Midwest according to the radar. As pretty as it makes the city, it's probably for the best that they cancelled everything. Soon it’ll even be hard to drive very far in.” And Christen gave her a smile, wide and almost child-like in her excitement at the scene before them.

"You're not from California?" she asked, thinking back to something the other woman had said during the flight, her familiarity with all of the places Chris mentioned as she talked about her hometown, and Tobin shook her head.

"I spent a year out there, playing soccer around Los Angeles, totally fell in love with the city and the weather and the surfing," she gave Christen a lazy grin. "But then I got traded to Atlanta, and then to New Jersey, and then New York. I didn't spend more than a year on a single team, and it was so frustrating because it wasn't that I wasn't good enough for a team to keep me. The league was just such a mess."

Christen nodded, empathizing with the frustration of being subject to some greater cause's whims.

"Finally, I got tired of it, and that's how I ended up in France," Tobin continued. "I could have come home after the old league folded and the new one started up, but I didn't have faith it would be run any better than the last one. Plus," she smiled, "PSG really started to feel like home, Paris and France and all that. I walk around the city, and I feel like I belong there. So I stayed, and have been playing there ever since."

“So, where is—“ she started to ask, but Tobin leaned over her, close enough that Christen could smell the citrusy scent of her hair, close enough that Christen could feel the warmth of her skin, and pointed out the window.

“Look,” Tobin said softly, and the other woman followed, just in time to see a line of carriages cross their path, the horses seeming almost to dance in the snow as they passed, their carriages empty but no less beautiful in the quickly fading afternoon light, and Christen forgot everything but the soft magic of the moment, the feeling of having discovered some unexpected secret place just for her, for her and the woman beside her.

— — —

Tobin had found a room for them at a hotel just off Columbus Circle, and refused all of Christen’s offers to contribute to the cost. “Please?" Chris asked again when they were in the elevator, "let me split it with you?" She’d already let the athlete pay for what had been an outrageously expensive taxi ride from the airport, and now the hotel too? It seemed like too much.

But the other woman just shook her head again, and rested a gentle hand on Christen’s arm. "Seriously," Tobin gave her a grin—not cocky, not smirking, but sincere—"don't worry about it. I have so many points from all the travelling I have to do. It's nice to be able to actually use them for something. Consider it a Christmas present." And it was the genuine pleasure in her voice that convinced Christen that this wasn't some weird power play, some set-up, some scenario from the true crime podcasts her roommate in Paris devoured like cheap wine. Not that she’d actually been worried about it, of course, but still.

"Okay," Chris smiled at her, this newfound friend, and nodded. "But, I'm going to buy us dinner—no arguments."

Tobin unlocked the door to the room with the keycard she’d been given at the desk and stepped back for Christen to enter first. “Welcome,” she extended her arm with a flourish, giving an entertaining half-bow, as they entered the room, “to our humble temporary abode.”

The hotel room was nice—as nice as some of the VIP suites she’d been in over the last few years. But it was the bed that caught Christen’s attention more than anything else,and Tobin’s smile faded a little. “I swear it wasn’t on purpose, they only had single bed rooms left,” she explained to Christen, sounding sheepish. “I should have told you that when I made the call, or tried harder to get a second room, or let you say if you were okay with it at the very least,” Tobin rambled on until Chris touched her hand.

“It’s a very handsome room,” Christen assured her, looking around again at the warm wooden walls, the pristine white duvet with the deep royal blue blanket folded at the foot. In the corner, standing tall in front of the wall of glass with a view of the snow falling softly over the city, there was a Christmas tree decorated with gorgeous gold and blue glass balls. The tree was fake, of course, but somehow still the scent of pine needles filled the room pleasantly. It was perfect, Chris thought as she took it all in.

“And I’m pretty sure that’s a king-size bed, I think we’ll have more than enough room to share.” She eyed it again, almost tempted to pull back the thick cover and curl up for just a few minutes after the long flight, the journey into the city from the airport. But her stomach roared, and she realized that it had been hours since the last pass of the flight attendants with the peanuts and cookies.

“Hungry?” Tobin gave her a relieved look, glad that Christen had understood about the bed.

“God, I’m starving,” Chris replied, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Do you want to freshen up first?” She looked at Tobin, catching her framed by soft white glow of the vintage-style white bulbs that the hotel staff had decked the small artificial tree with.And she smiled when the other woman nodded eagerly.

Tobin unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a small bag, and then a change of clothes. “I’ll be quick,” she promised, but Chris just smiled and shook her head. There was no rush. Neither of them were going anywhere.

Alone in the room for a moment, Christen did let herself sit on the bed, kicking off her shoes and letting them fall to the ground as she laid back, sinking into the plush mattress. “Ohhhhhhh,” she couldn’t catch the soft moan in time. This, this was the kind of bed she dreamed of every time she slipped into her bed in Paris, in the tiny bedroom with the two single beds that she shared with another girl from the embassy. They’d joked more than once that they thought the mattresses had been around since at least  _ L’Ancien Régime . _

She closed her eyes for just a moment, thinking over the last twelve hours. The long flight, the woman next to her—Tobin. Christen rested a hand over her belly to quell the flutter there that had only gotten worse when she heard the shower turn on. The flutter that had been there since the moment she’d felt the warmth of Tobin’s hand over her own. The incredible sense of connection that only seemed to knit itself tighter and tighter with every additional moment she spent in the athlete’s presence. And Christen wondered what it meant as she lay there, thinking of Tobin’s gentle touch, her soft voice, the penetrating depth of her hazel-brown eyes, until she drifted off, thoughts of this new stranger, this new friend, at the forefront of her mind.

“Hey,” Chris heard the soft voice cut through the fog of sleep, felt the careful pressure of a hand on her thigh as she was gently shaken awake. “Hey,” Tobin whispered again, and smiled when she saw the other woman’s green eyes, still heavy with sleep. Her heart seemed to forget its own rhythm as Christen slowly came aware, lips curving in a lazy smile.

“Time is it?” Chris asked, her voice a whisper in the quiet room, and Tobin stepped back awkwardly, needing to put some space between herself and the woman whose warmth she could still feel, like sparks echoing up her arm, settling into her chest.

Tobin checked the clock radio next to the bed needlessly, she knew what time it was. But she needed that excuse to look away from the green eyes that seemed to pull her in closer and closer. “Just after six,” she said, “you were asleep when I came out of the shower and it seemed like you needed the nap.” She pointed over to the sofa where she'd been watching a holiday movie, "So I just caught up on some tv until the weather alert banner made me look out the windows again."

She’d been asleep for a little over two hours, Chris realized. Asleep in a hotel room with a virtual stranger. And yet—

And yet Tobin didn’t feel like a stranger. And if she were going to be honest with herself, Christen couldn’t think of anyone she wasn’t related to who made her feel safer than this woman. Still, she blushed, feeling the red warmth of embarrassment spreading over her cheeks. “Sorry,” Chris gave her a sheepish look, but Tobin shook her head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Tobin smiled down at her. “I would have let you keep sleeping except—“

She nodded over to the open windows that looked out onto the edge of the park below, and Christen rose from the bed to look down at the city, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. “Oh, Tobin,” she whispered, “it’s gorgeous.”

The city below was covered in a thick blanket of white, only broken by the occasional infringement of human life. And though it was darker now, the evening having fully settled over the city while she slept, the glow of street lamps illuminated the scene with an almost magical light. “It is,” Tobin answered her, looking at something else—someone else—entirely. “Gorgeous.”

“But,” she continued after a moment, “I think it will thwart our plans to go out and get dinner. A lot of places are closing early because of the snow.” And she gave Christen an apologetic look. “I let you sleep too long.”

Except Christen didn’t regret that fact. Didn’t regret that they’d likely be stuck in the hotel room for the night instead of taking in some of New York’s holiday sights. Because the room was warm and comfortable and there was something here—something cozy and soft and ... intriguing. Something that Christen wanted to lean into, wanted to cover them both in the sweetness and hope of possibility, even just for a night. 

She bit her lip and watched Tobin’s reflection in the window. “So,” Chris said, “we stay in.” She turned to look at the other woman, “I bet one of the restaurants downstairs is still open. And if not, then I'm sure there’s room service?”

Tobin met her gaze, a warmth in her eyes that already felt familiar, and smiled.

— — —

“So,” Tobin snagged another breadstick from the basket between them, “you know who I am and what I do, but I don’t know anything about you?”

“Nothing?” Christen smiled, “That doesn’t sound right.” She reached for her drink, still smiling as she took a sip before looking around the bustling dining room again. The hotel's three restaurants had still been open, and though they'd been slightly overrun by other guests with cancelled reservations and last-minute plans changed thanks to the weather, Tobin had been able to get them a table at the more casual one, a homestyle Italian place with an impressive list of pastas and brick-oven pizzas. And there was something about it—the homey-feel, the warmth, the subtlety of the holiday decorations, how they blended right into the rest of the scene—that eased the ache in her heart at her own ruined plans. This wasn't a flight home, it wasn't seeing the look of surprise on her parents' faces when they came down in the morning and found her dozing on the couch. This wasn't what she'd planned but ... but it wasn't nothing either. This was something, unnamed and unknown, but something with room to grow. And that, at least, was enough for now.

Tobin shook her head. “Okay, not nothing. I know your name, and I know that turbulence or bumpy flights freak you out.” The other woman nodding encouragingly. “And—,” the soccer player thought hard, pursing her lips, “you’re from LA, and currently living in Europe.” She looked up at Christen with a grin that already the other woman knew to be a warning. “Plus, I recently discovered that you snore, just the softest little sound, when you sleep on your back.” And Tobin winked at her as Christen blushed.

“Okay, okay,” Chris rolled her eyes, laughing softly, “what do you want to know?” She watched as Tobin pretended to think hard, bringing her hand up to her chin and narrowing her eyes as she hemmed and hawed out loud. And Christen couldn’t help but be charmed, though she did her best to keep that to herself for the moment.

“How long has it been since you were home?” The other woman asked at last, the question taking Chris by surprise. She’d expected something about what she did or why she was living in Europe, something similar to the information that Tobin herself had volunteered earlier already. But Tobin seemed to delight in confusing her, zigging when Christen expected her to zag.

Christen put down her drink and thought back. “To the US? Or to Los Angeles?” She asked but then went on to answer without waiting for clarification. “I was in LA a year and a half ago? Maybe a little longer. My sister got married and I was able to take a whole two weeks off to come back home. But I was in DC a few months ago for about a week, and my mom and sisters flew in to see me before I had to travel back to France.” The look on her face when she mentioned her family was so serene and so full of fondness that Tobin found herself wishing she could see more of it, could figure out all the ways to make that look appear.

She leaned forward, even more curious now. But she’d seen how her first question had thrown the other woman off her game, even just the slightest, and so she zigged again. “Was it nice?” Tobin asked, the slightest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. “The wedding?” 

And Christen laughed, giving her a cheeky look, catching on. “You want to hear about my older sister’s wedding?” She raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and felt a fondness kindling in her chest as she watched Tobin shake her head.

“Not unless you wore something exceptionally hot,” the other woman grinned broadly, “or the bridesmaids dresses were hideous.” Christen managed to keep her face blank just long enough to see a little of Tobin’s swagger falter before breaking into a laugh.

“The dresses were gorgeous and I looked like a walking heart-attack,” she leaned forward to steal the last breadstick from the basket, not unaware that Tobin’s eyes had moved with her, lower and lower, to fix on the swell of her breasts that the low v-neck of her sweater revealed. “The slit up the leg was so high I had to spray-glue it to my thigh just to make sure I didn’t accidentally flash my great-grandparents,” Chris whispered conspiratorially, watching just the hint of rose bloom over Tobin’s face and spread, barely even visible under the other woman’s coloring. And she sat back, chewing on the end of the deliciously garlicky breadstick, pleased to have thrown her dinner partner off her game even just for a moment.

And Tobin raised her hands in surrender, acknowledging her game. “Okay, okay,” she smiled, “a real question. What do you do in France?”

Christen smiled at her. “I work for the Foreign Service,” she said, and waited for the usual response. The blank expression, the confused look in the other person’s eyes. But Tobin displayed neither of those. There was interest there, though it was clear she had still no idea what Christen did.

“Are you, or have you ever been a spy,” the other woman asked with a grin, “or, wait, if you answer that do you have to kill me?” And Tobin’s eyes sparkled with amusement as Chris leaned in conspiratorially, whispering in her ear.

“Careful, now,” she said, and she could feel the shiver that cut through the athlete at the feel of the words almost against her skin, “you don’t want to blow my cover.”

And Tobin laughed, a sound warm with the desire that Christen could feel blooming within the both of them. The air between them was practically pregnant with it, a brimming electricity.

Chris sat back again, waiting a moment for the heat in her own body to cool before she continued. “As much fun as it is to mess with you,” she met Tobin’s eyes over her drink, “I’m going to have to burst your bubble. The Foreign Service doesn’t do spies, just diplomacy.” Their pizza arrived and the scent of it reminded Christen of just how hungry she was. She took a large slice, Tobin laughing as she struggled with the strings of cheese that stretched across the table to her plate. “And I specialize—thank you,” she nodded as Tobin used her knife to sever the link, “—I specialize in the economic track which means—“ but the words trailed off as she took her first bite, eyes practically rolling back in her head as the hot cheese, the spicy pepperoni, the crisp and buttery crust exploded over her tastebuds. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, “ohhh, that’s so good.”

Tobin watched her, unable to look away. The woman sitting across from her was like something out of a dream, beautiful and smart, sexy and funny. And she wanted to know more, know everything. She wanted this night to stretch on into the world of eternities and forevers already, and as much as it should have scared her, this immediate and visceral connection, it didn’t. And that itself made the wanting mean more, made it sink deeper under Tobin’s skin.

After a moment, Chris was able to continue, deciding not to be embarrassed about the way she had wolfed down half a slice already. “My role involves meeting a lot of American businesspeople looking to create relationships with French industries, or vice versa. So I spend a lot of time arranging hotels, transportation, working to set up lunches or breakfasts or dinners.” She gave Tobin a wry grin, “You have no idea how many times I’ve been called out in the middle of the night to some representative’s hotel room to smooth over some issue that seems meaningless to anyone who isn't a millionaire or something like that. Like why there was no sparkling water ready for them in the mini-fridge, or having to try and explain to a French concierge why the American economy hinges on some vice president of a major company getting a full night’s rest and how the drip from the bathroom faucet is preventing that from happening.” Her smile is genuine, but Tobin can also see something else in her eyes, frustration maybe. Disillusionment. Disappointment.

“Not quite the glamorous Parisian lifestyle all your friends and family thought it would be?” she asked, taking another slice for herself. And Christen paused for a second before reaching across the table to rest her hands on Tobin’s arms, almost shocked that someone else finally understood.

“Oh, my God, yes,” she sighed dramatically. “They think I sit by the river and eat beignets all day long, I swear.” And there was laughter in her voice as she sat back, relaxing into the booth, fully at ease at last.

Tobin has long since lost interest in her pizza, delicious as it is. Instead, she eats up the sight of Christen before her. Those green eyes that seem to cut straight through her, right into her most hidden self. Her hair, loose again and falling over her shoulders in waves and curls that she just wants to run her hands through, to feel against her fingers. And her lips, the soft curve of her smile. That was an image that would follow Tobin into her dreams, she was sure of it.

“Honestly,” Tobin grinned at her, “a lot of people think pretty much the same. That I just show up for game day, put in ninety minutes and head out until the next fixture.” She shrugged when Christen nodded in understanding. “Even the ones I played with here don’t really understand. I mean, they’re better than the ones who know nothing, they know there are lots of practices and trainings. They know how much work it is just to be a player at a high level. But they don’t know—“ Christen’s hand rubbed at her arm, encouraging her on as she heard Tobin’s tone shift.

“What,” Chris asked gently, “tell me what they don’t know.” And Tobin knew—she knew. She could. She could tell Christen and Christen would understand. 

“Maybe it’s Europe or France,” she continued, “or maybe it’s just my team. But there are different—“ she struggled to find the word, shrugging again when she settled on one. “Different expectations, I guess you could say.” And Christen nodded, letting her speak. “There are rules about everything, rules you wouldn’t know about unless you grew up in the system, with the team. Not just what to eat, but when and how—one time I got a soup and a salad during team dinner, just a buffet thing, and everyone laughed. On this team,” she said in an impressive French accent, “we eat our meals in the proper order, one course at a time.” And still, even after a few years, Tobin still blushed to think of it, a stranger with the women who were supposed to be her teammates laughing at her.

Christen made a soft sound and Tobin felt her touch over her palm, and gripped the offered hand tightly. “It’s better now, I know all those rules. But there’s still things like how we appear in public, who we appear with, and—and how we look.” She paused, taking a breath. “In the States, sure, there are a few players whose images they use on all the advertising, players who are extraordinarily good looking. But on my team, everyone has to be beautiful.” Tobin looked up at the other woman with a self-deprecating grin. “I’ve never in my life been beautiful,” she said softly, and there was pain there, real pain. And it made Christen want to wrap her up, tell her how very wrong she was.

“So,” Tobin coughed awkwardly after a moment, “anyway, no beignets for me. To be honest, I’m a little afraid that my nutrition coach will take one look at me when I go back after the holiday and be able to tell exactly how many pieces of this pizza I ate.”

But Christen didn’t smile at the joke, just continued to hold Tobin’s hand, stroking over the soft skin, the strong fingers she found there. “You’re right,” she whispered, leaning closer, and closer, until she was breathing in the fresh soap scent of the athlete’s skin, the same as on her own. Closer and closer until she felt like she was breathing in Tobin herself, her aura, her essence. “You’ve never in your life been beautiful,” Christen whispered the words over Tobin’s lips, “you could never be something as simple as beautiful.”

“Christen,” the name came out not as a whisper but a gasp, but then she felt the other woman’s lips on her own and whatever she’d been about to say didn’t matter any longer, couldn’t matter. Because nothing mattered. Nothing but the feel of Christen’s mouth moving gently over her own, the taste of her—pizza and Diet Coke and something underneath, something decidedly just her.

"Come upstairs with me," Chris whispered as she pulled back just enough that Tobin could remember how to breath again. "Please?"

— — —

Christen dug her fingers into the woman's sharp hipbones, nudging her back against the wall of the elevator as it made its leisurely way up to their floor. They'd left the restaurant in a hurry, Tobin throwing down a handful of bills that would more than cover their meal and leave plenty for a generous tip. And Chris hadn't even protested, forgetting all about her earlier demand that she be allowed to pay for their dinner in the wave of wanting and need that swept through her body. She'd just taken Tobin's hand and pulled her into the first elevator that opened, barely managing to wait for the doors to close before she'd taken the athlete's face into her hands and pulled her close for another kiss, and another, until she was pressing Tobin against the mirrored wall, slipping her tongue between the other woman's lips to taste her mouth.

The hall in front of the elevator was empty when the doors opened, and for that Tobin was grateful. For that and the way Christen blushed, standing still, unable to move, the doors almost closing before Tobin stretched an arm out to force the doors to open again. "We can go back downstairs," the athlete whispered softly, "we can go and order that chocolate mousse the waiter wouldn't stop talking about, drink wine and listen to the Christmas carols instead." There was an out, she wanted Christen to know that. But the other woman shook her head.

"I don't want to go back downstairs," she said, ignoring the way the elevator doors began to ding in distress at being held open for so long. "I want this. I want you.” And the words were so firm, so certain. Tobin felt them in her bones, in the deepest recesses of her heart.

And now it was her turn, her turn to take Christen’s hand and take the lead, guiding the other woman down the empty hallway to their door. Tobin fumbled with the keycard as the other woman tugged at her shirt, as her mouth explored the back of the footballer’s neck, as much skin as she could reach. Until finally, blissfully, the door opened and she could pull Christen into the room with her, closing the door with an unfortunate slam before turning and pressing the other woman up against it, taking a moment just to look at her.

“You feel—,” she whispered, hearing the way her voice caught as she searched for the words to describe what Christen’s presence was doing to her. But Chris lifted a hand to her jaw, and spoke for her. 

“Home,” Christen answered, lips only just barely skimming over the soft curve of her cheek. “You feel like coming home.” And she lowered her mouth to Tobin’s, the kiss fairy-light, and the desperation from just a moment ago became something softer, something more real. Not any less pressing, the wanting no less deep. But steadier, something with the heft, the weight of permanence, of forever.

And Tobin sighed against the other woman’s mouth in contented agreement. “Home,” she repeated, her fingers slipping into Christen’s hair, “you feel like home.”

— — —

"... Christmas, daddy. I love you both so much and I'll see you soon."

Tobin woke to the soft words, picking them out over the bustle of movement in the hallway outside their room, over the sounds of the city far below them, over the sound of her own heart still thudding in her chest. She woke and heard the newly familiar voice and remembered—remembered everything, every moment and every feeling. Tobin shifted onto her side, feeling the sheets move against her skin as she pulled them up just enough to cover her bare chest, smiling as she realized she could see the other woman's reflection in the mirrored door of the closet. And she watched, entranced, as Christen stretched her arms up above her head, rolling out the kinks of sleep there before the bathroom sink, all wrapped up in one of the plush hotel robes they'd found hanging inside the closet the night before. She watched as the other woman pulled her hair up and back, putting it into a messy bun before turning off the light and slipping out of the bathroom.

"Morning," Tobin whispered, wondering if Christen could hear the fondness in her voice already, could pick it out so soon. Wondering what it would mean if she could. “Merry Christmas,” she added.

But Christen just smiled down at her for a moment, eyes soft in the morning light. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said, and Tobin felt the worry in her chest dissipate at the sound of her voice, the kind and honest affection there. "I just wanted to call my parents and tell them I—"

Tobin didn't let her finish, anticipating what the other woman was going to say. "I'll get you a flight," she said, and let her fingers twine with Christen's, "the first one out this morning. If they're booked, I'll charter one." And though she knew it was a foolish offer, knew that it was revealing all her cards to put the option out there, she didn't care. Twenty-four hours, that's all it had taken. Twenty-four hours and a stranger sitting next to her on the flight home and her whole life had changed. Her whole world had shifted, and home redefined itself not as a place any longer, but as a person. This person. This woman.

Chris laughed softly, bending down to kiss her, and the athlete could taste the mint of toothpaste still on her lips. "Actually," Christen whispered, bringing Tobin's fingers to the belt of her robe, "the first flight out that I could get isn’t until tomorrow, so I was hoping maybe I could just spend the day with you? Here in the city?”

"We didn't get to see all the cool stuff New York has for the holidays. We could do that, you know, if you wanted," Tobin's voice cracked, but she didn't want to—couldn't assume. Not when so much rode on this moment, on what Christen was suggesting.

"We didn't," Christen agreed, "and the snow has stopped, so maybe later you can show me around." She covered Tobin's fingers with her own, and undid the belt holding her robe closed, letting it fall open to reveal her bare skin beneath. "But right now," her mouth ghosted over the soccer player's jaw, down her neck, "the only thing I want is you."

And anything that Tobin might have said, any coherent thought, any joke about unwrapping a Christmas present, disappeared as Christen straddled her hips, leaning forward to kiss her deeply, passionately. “You can have me,” she settled her hands over the gentle curve of Christen’s hips, “you can have everything.”

— — —

The sun was high in the sky when Tobin woke again, brilliant as it reflected up and off the thick snow below. And she could hear the traffic from the street, the usual hustle and bustle of the busiest city in the world as it returned to normal, even on this holy holiday. But Tobin knew, deep inside, that nothing would be normal again. Somehow, on a flight home for Christmas, she’d found the woman she was meant to love. The woman who snored just the slightest when she slept on her back—Tobin had more than enough evidence of that now—and liked to curl into the warmth of another body next to her. The woman whose eyes laughed louder than Tobin had thought possible, whose smile seemed to stretch on into an infinity of possibilities. Whose hair smelled like coconuts and sunshine, whose skin was velvety smooth and warm and currently wrapped all around her, holding the soccer player close as they slept. And if this wasn’t love yet, Tobin knew, it was just a matter of time.

“Hey,” Tobin whispered, pressing gentle kisses over Christen’s hairline, heart skipping a beat as she heard the soft sounds of the other woman coming awake. “Let’s get up, there’s a place I want to share with you.”

They got ready for the day slowly; touches and looks lingering long after would otherwise be considered usual. And Tobin could feel the anxiety rising within her, feel the way it constricted the beating of her heart, the expansion and contraction of her lungs. Feelings she saw reflected back at her in Christen's soft eyes, the same emotions, the same regret at the impending loss. Because every moment they spend together, as perfect as each one was, was just one more moment closer to their inevitable separation. When Christen would board a plane and Tobin would go home.

Except, Tobin decided, maybe it didn't have to be like that. The plane ride, the snowstorm, maybe it had been God or fate or just damned coincidence, but this didn't have to be the end. They could write their own, create their own.

"Are you ready," she asked Christen softly, not bothering to hide the smile that flashed across her face as she watched the curly-haired woman pull on her thick winter hat before wrapping a long scarf around her neck. Chris met her eyes, some of her shyness returning now that it was midday, now that they were fully dressed, now that the magic of the snowy city had settled into the day after, and nodded. She was ready.

Tobin held her hand in the back of the cab she’d ordered, looking over every so often to see Christen’s gentle smile—sometimes directed at something she’d seen outside the car, children building snow people; a man in a Santa suit, arms overladen with bags as he stepped out from a corner bodega. But mostly, the soccer player realized, directed at her. When she’d turn to look at Christen’s beautiful profile set against the backdrop of the New York cityscape, and found those deep green eyes looking right back at her. “You’re gorgeous,” she whispered, her thumb making slow, soothing circles over the backside of Chris’s palm, “just in case no one’s ever told you that before.”

And Christen turned toward her, leaning into Tobin’s warmth and solid strength. “There have been some,” she reached up to run her fingers along the other woman’s jaw, “but I never wanted to hear them say it. And it never meant anything. Not like—not like it does coming from you.” Tobin couldn’t do anything but kiss her in that moment, hearing those words, the deep sincerity of them.

“Do you trust me,” she whispered, nuzzling into Christen’s neck, and in the seconds it took for the dark-haired woman to respond, Tobin felt an eternity of lifetimes pass, holding her breath until she felt the sure and certain nod, heard Chris’s response. The soft “yes” against her hair. Tobin leaned forward, pulling her wallet from her pocket as she exchanged a few words with their driver before sitting back and tugging the other woman close. “You tired?” she asked as Christen leaned against her, her head falling onto Tobin’s shoulder.

“A little,” Christen admitted, even the mention of it making her yawn. “Some of us weren’t rude enough to sleep the whole flight through,” she nudged Tobin gently, smiling to herself as she felt the other woman hold her closer.

Tobin settled back against the seat of the car, perfectly content. “Close your eyes for a bit,” she suggested, “I’ll wake you when we get there.” And it was clear that whatever plans Tobin had had for their afternoon, the sights they were supposed to see in the city, there had been a change. But Christen wasn’t concerned. It was true, what she’d told the woman holding her so carefully, she trusted Tobin. There were a thousand reasons not to—the biggest one being the fact that they’d only known each other for a day, really, maybe a little longer. Not long enough for this to make any sense. Not long enough to make how she felt about Tobin make sense, make it rational.

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t rational. But it felt right. Felt more right than anything else she could remember experiencing in her life. And so, yes, Christen trusted woman who was holding her so carefully, trusted whatever she’d had planned, trusted her with her life and—and her heart. She snuggled into the athlete, felt those strong arms encircle her, heard Tobin whisper softly into her hair, and let her eyes drift closed, let her breathing even out, let Tobin hold her as she dozed against the other woman’s chest.

When Christen woke again, it was to the soft sound of Christmas carols from the radio up front, and the gentle feeling of Tobin’s fingers against her wrist. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking out the window and seeing the way the light from the sun had begun to dim, already anticipating the darkness of the evening, and how the landscape had changed. No more skyscrapers in the distance, but houses, street after street of them, regular houses like any town outside of any major city in any part of the country, and Tobin kissed her brow, giving her a nervous, fond smile.

“So, I have a confession to make,” Tobin admitted, and she stroked her fingers over Christen’s side to help soothe away the quizzical look that appeared on the other woman’s face. “It’s nothing bad,” she continued, looking sheepish, “at least I hope it’s not?” But she felt the squeeze of Chris’s fingers around her own, and the worry in her heart eased a little. “I didn’t have a cancelled flight,” the words come out in a rush, “at the airport, I mean. I just—your flight got cancelled and I wasn’t, I wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.”

And whatever Christen had imagined the footballer needing to admit, it hadn’t been that. Hadn’t been something as sweet as not wanting to say goodbye just yet. Not as gentle as simply wanting to spend more time with her. “So,” she whispered, and brought their joined hands up to her lips, kissing over Tobin’s fingers softly, “you were already home? All this time?” But Tobin shook her head, and there was a warm smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“No,” she shook her head, her heart feeling so full and so ready for more, “I was never home. Not until—“ and Christen breathed in deeply, Tobin could feel the way her chest rose and fell against her, “—you.” The dark-eyed woman took another breath, needing a moment before she could continue. “I’ve never—I’ve felt things for women before, obviously,” Tobin’s mouth curved into a wry grin, “I’ve had relationships and hook-ups. But this—“

Tobin brought Christen’s hand to rest over her chest, over her heart. “This, Christen,” she whispered, and the awe, the adoration in her voice seemed to shock even her, “this is more. It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt. Maybe more than I thought I could feel.” Chris was sitting now, facing her as best she could in the backseat of the cab, and Tobin could see, reflecting back at her in the green of the other woman’s eyes, understanding. “It doesn’t make sense,” she leaned in to brush her lips over Christen’s jaw, “but I don’t want to let it go, not without seeing where it could take us.”

“Tobin, I,” Chris began, but smiled and tugged the other woman closer.She wanted Tobin to hear the words, wanted to see her as she said them, “This means something. You mean something, and I want to find out exactly how much you, this, can become.” Chris kissed the other woman delicately at first, and then more, deeper, swiping her tongue over Tobin’s lips, asking permission and slipping past to stroke against the athlete’s once that permission was granted. “So,” she asked with a smile, soft and sweet, pulling back as she felt the cab driver put the car in park on the street in a residential neighborhood, right before a tall colonial clearly decked out with love for the holidays, “where are we?”

“You didn’t get to spend Christmas with your family,” Tobin told her softly, fingers playing with Christen’s hair. “And I know this isn’t your family, and if it’s too weird, we’ll go right back to New York—“

And Christen realized what Tobin had done, where they are. “You brought me home,” she whispered, a little awed at the idea, a warmth spreading out from her heart that felt so right and so good. “You brought me to your family for Christmas.” 

Tobin nodded, still nervous about how the other woman might feel about the revelation. But Chris hugged her close, eyes sparkling with happy, grateful tears.

“Thank you,” she kissed the corner of the athlete’s mouth sweetly, “thank you for sharing your family with me.”

— — —

Christen fit, Tobin realized, her head swimming with mulled wine, her heart full of warmth and more as she watched the woman from across the room. She fit right into the family, just as if she’d always belonged, as if there had always been a place for her, just waiting for Tobin to find her and bring her home.

The whole family had welcomed Christen with ope arms, each well aware that Tobin had never—never—brought someone home before. Her mother had hugged the slight woman almost as soon as they’d entered the house, calling for Jeff to take their bags upstairs. And her father, once he’d convinced his wife to let the poor child breathe a little, had clasped Christen’s hands in his own and welcomed her to their home, wishing her the merriest of Christmas wishes.

Aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, nieces and nephews, Christen had charmed them all, easily winning them over with her ready smile and her enthusiastic laugh. More than a few relatives had wandered over to Tobin, congratulating her on finding such a wonderful woman. And Tobin, Tobin could only smile and nod in agreement, all the while watching, feeling her heart just double—triple—in size as she watched her family fall in love.

“Oh, my Toby,” her mother came up behind her, wrapping her up in a hug, “does she know?” And Tobin tilted her head to look back at her mom, the question clear in her eyes. “That you love her, does she know?”

And Tobin couldn’t keep herself from turning, from resting her head against her mother’s shoulder, where she’d cried a hundred thousand times as a child. “It’s ... complicated?” she gave her mother a sheepish look.

The older woman just pursed her lips, nodding for a moment before patting her youngest daughter on the back. “Come and help me in the kitchen,” she kissed her forehead, “and you can tell me all about it.”

And sitting there at the kitchen island, forbidden from doing anything more involved than folding napkins, Tobin shared the story of meeting the younger woman—the airplane and the turbulence, the cancelled flight and the hotel. And putting it into words, she saw for herself how every little step over the last few days had brought her to this point, heart overflowing with love for this miracle of a woman.

“So, you’ve just met?” Tobin’s mother asked, taking one of the sorrier-looking napkins and redoing it just right. And the soccer player nodded, blushing a little. But her mother, usually so sensible and solid, surprised her, resting a hand over her daughter’s. “Sounds like it was meant to be, my love.”

Tobin couldn’t help it, she just looked at her mother, mouth open wide. “You don’t think it’s strange? Too fast? You’re not worried?”

But her mother shook her head. “Tobin,” she put the napkins down and used a finger to lift her daughter’s chin, until she could see her youngest daughter’s soft brown eyes. “Tell me what you feel?”

She thought for a moment, searching deep within herself. Thinks about the last day, how every moment of it had been better than any before, simply because Christen had been at her side. How her heart seemed to reorder its rhythm, her lungs forget their duty, every time she looked at the other woman. How she felt so incredibly seen every time she foundChristen looking at her.

“It’s only been a day,” Tobin whispered, her voice cracking as she heard Christen’s laughter ring out from the family room down the hall. “It’s only been a day, mom,” she looked up at her mother, “and already I can’t think about a day without her. I can’t imagine a time or a place where I don’t want her at my side.”

And Tobin’s mother laughed softly, the sound full of mirth, casting a knowing look down at her daughter. “Oh, my girl,” she took Tobin’s chin in her hand, shaking it gently, “that’s love.”

Brown eyes met her own, and she could see the knowing reflected back at her in Tobin’s face. “But,” the woman whispered, “how—it happened so quickly, we only met just ...”

But the mother just smiled down at her sweet, gentle child, feeling so blessed to call this girl her own. “Love doesn’t need very long, Toby,” she whispered, and leaned over to press a kiss to her daughter’s brow, “and when you find it? When it’s right? You know. Here,” her hand rested against Tobin’s sternum, right over the thudding of her heart, and the girl nodded.

“I know, mom,” she whispered, and it was there, written across her face, the realization—no, the knowing—blooming up and out of her heart, this peaceful, loving glow.

Mother and daughter finished in the kitchen, bringing out the next round of snacks to the room fully of happy, laughing people. And Tobin scooted up behind the dark-haired woman with the ringing laugh, and wrapped her up in a cozy hug, hands clasped over Christen’s belly. She kissed the curve of the shorter woman’s neck softly, gently, and maybe for the first time in her life, didn’t give a damn about what anyone else in the room with them thought.

“Hey,” Chris whispered, leaning back against Tobin. She slipped one of her hands between the taller woman’s clasped ones and squeezed gently. Such a simple, easy gesture. But already it had become a language between them, something they and they alone understood.

_ I’m here. _

_ I’ve got you. _

_ I’m glad you’re with me. _

And so, so much more.

Tobin squeezed back, kissing the smooth line of Christen’s shoulder. Already, she could see it, the entire language laid out before them, everything that simple touch of palm to palm, hand to hand, fingers linked together, will grow to mean. 

And she can’t wait.

— — —

**_ Several years later ... _ **

The tree was majestic, something straight out of a storybook or off a movie set. It was the tallest Christmas tree that Christen had ever seen, and the scent of pine and sap seemed to carry for blocks, announcing its presence long before they actually arrived at the Rockefeller. Every year it seemed bigger, brighter, more beautiful. Every year Christen fell more in love—with the tree, with the season. With the holiday and the cheer. With the woman at her side, celebrating it all with her. 

She leaned back into Tobin now, smiling as she felt the taller woman's arms wrap gently around her, careful not to disturb the bundle held close to her chest. "She asleep?" her wife asked, the words whispered into the dark curls that fell around Christen's shoulders, down her back, and Christen glanced down, lifting up just the tiniest corner of the thick blanket to peer at their daughter's tiny, perfect face. Oh, how she loved that face, Tobin in miniature. All the way down to the curve of her mouth—too little to smile yet, still, Christen knew that it was only a matter of time before she was faced with two of the most beautiful grins she'd ever seen. 

"Out like a light," Chris tilted her head up to see that smile there, wide and proud, on her wife's face.

"Well, wouldn't you be?" Tobin teased, her arms holding her wife tight, looking down and seeing the glint of Christmas tree lights reflected on their faces. "Belly full, milk drunk, all warm and cozy against mama's chest?" And they stay like that for a long moment, bathed in the holiday spirit, looking not up at the tree, the symbol of the season, but at each other, basking in this moment of quiet joy.

“Maman!" The moment was broken—only the quiet, never the joy—as a pair of small arms wrapped her legs up tight at the knees, and Tobin let her wife and daughter go. Bending down, she pulled the tiny intruder up and into her arms, settling him against her hip as she kissed his sticky face. "Maman," her son giggled as she nuzzled her nose in his hair, "grandma and grandpapa m'ont offert du hot chocolate et alors granny and pop-pop nous ont donne all candy canes and ....” Tobin smiled at the excitement in her son’s voice, the rapid switch between French and English, and listened intently to the recap of just exactly how her parents and Christen's had spoiled the little boy. An unnecessary recap, as well, considering the evidence of all the grandparents' treats was there on his face.

For their part, the grandparents did look sheepish when she gave them all a look, but Tobin couldn't be mad. Not about the candy or the unnecessary competition their parents seemed to have to be the favorites. Not on this day, her favorite day. Not on this day, the anniversary of the start of her life.

"Well, they must love you an awful lot," she kissed his forehead before pulling back, looking into his green, green eyes. "You remembered to say thank you, right?" And smiled at the very serious way he nodded back at her, seeing the grandparents confirm it out of the corner of her eye. "Good boy."

The din of the crowd quieted, a gentle  shush making its way through the people gathered there in the square, and the silent buzz of anticipation. It began softly, the first notes of the choir spread throughout the crowd, and slowly swelled. Old familiar hymns, the cheerful carols like old friends, Tobin stood there, son on her hip, wife and daughter leaning back into her, parents behind them, at their side, and just took it all in, the moment and the love. Eyes wet as her mouth formed the words, following along as they rocked back and forth in place and just celebrated the magic of the night, of this night.

Christen reached back for her hand, twined their fingers together like they'd done a thousand times before. In good times, in bad. In times that meant everything, that meant nothing. She squeezed Tobin's fingers gently, a reminder and a rock.

Tobin squeezed back.


End file.
